


Captive

by redheadeddevastation



Series: How Bucky Got His Groove Back [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: 'B and D' not so much 'S and M', Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flashbacks, Hostage!Darcy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadeddevastation/pseuds/redheadeddevastation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Darcy licks her lips. She knows who has her. He was all over the news in the past few weeks, and only hours earlier she had ignored a fairly specific warning against getting distracted by her phone when she left the tower, leaving her unaware of the dangerous stranger shadowing her."</p><p>The Winter Soldier's got himself a hostage, but the longer he's out of cryo and out from under HYDRA, the more his base instincts are surfacing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caught

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, since this is in MY head, I didn’t really think detail was needed. However, since it’s now OUT of my head, I should give some background:
> 
> -Set a few months after CA:TWS ends, The Winter Soldier’s programming is breaking down. He’s unclear as to who is telling him the truth and he’s trying to piece it together himself. He knows that the same type of ‘Super Soldier Serum’ was given to both Steve Rogers and himself, and in his mind, that means Rogers has gone through the necessary torture and mission programming that Barnes has. Since Captain America appears to be doing just fine with no glitches, The Winter Soldier wants to recreate whatever is being done to Rogers to optimize his own functionality.
> 
> -In Barnes’ mind, The Avengers handlers want to add another asset to the team, which is why Captain America and Co. are looking for him. Barnes isn’t completely against the idea (again, Rogers’ programming seems to be working out great) but The Winter Soldier simply does not buy that there is no Chair, no one being strapped down to assist compliance, nothing. If it seems too good to be true, then it’s a goddamn trap.
> 
> -Darcy works for Stark as kind of a ‘go-fer’/ comedic relief and lives in the tower as well. With someone as rich, demanding and finicky as Stark, why *wouldn’t* he have a person paid to get him whatever he feels like having at that very moment? Personal assistants have shit to do, and it certainly isn’t find “that one thing I read about in the 1989… was it ’88?... Popular Mechanics issue that would work with that rotor I made last night.” 
> 
> -‘Maggie’ is a woman from Bucky’s past that is very similar to Darcy in size, shape, attitude and overall sexiness. Maggie’s only role in this story is as the memory of the best sex partner Bucky ever had. For anyone who has ever had a ‘Maggie’ of your own, you understand how deeply rooted and powerful those memory triggers are.

Darcy licks her lips. She knows who has her. He was all over the news in the past few weeks, and only hours earlier she had ignored a fairly specific warning against getting distracted by her phone when she left the tower, leaving her unaware of the dangerous stranger shadowing her.

 

She awoke sitting on a small stool, wrists tied behind her back and to an exposed support pole on which she leaned. Darcy’s wrists and shoulders ached, but in her mental inventory, everything seemed accounted for and unmarred. Then she sees him: no shirt, low slung jeans, sitting at the far side of the room, tapping away on a computer. Her eyes widen and a gasp escapes before she can stifle her surprise. James Barnes looks up from the screen to Darcy, then stands languidly and walks slowly to her.

 

“You… you’re…”

 

“Who am I?” he whispers, standing directly in front of her now. His expression is not searching or vulnerable; it’s as if he’s leading her, toying with her. A drop of sweat travels down her collar bone into the valley of her cleavage. For a brief second, his eyes cast down, distracted.

 

_The woman (stacked like a pin up and built for sin) briefly gives Sergeant Barnes the once over. The music in the dance hall is loud and the place is jumping like a live wire. “Oh, soldier boy, I can promise where you’re concerned, my name is ‘Trouble.’ Go find some sweeter arm candy; I’m not so easy to charm.”_

 

He focuses himself. His brow creases for a moment, but quickly relaxes. Darcy’s grimace as she shifts gives him a focal point and he moves to check her restraints.

 

“You’re Bucky Barnes,” she exhales and he stills his inspection of her wrists, smoothly lowering his body, looking her in the eye as he assesses the meaning behind her tone.

 

“Oh?” he says, low but somehow with edge, his nose inches from her own. “Would you wager your life on this answer?”

 

Darcy’s eyes widen slightly as her breathing is audibly shaky. Tremors take hold of her muscles and her peripheral vision begins to darken.

 

“I.. um, I suppose not,” she says tightly. This answer seems to satisfy him. Her panic abates and she takes several calm, steady breaths to stave off a total meltdown.

 

“Stand up,” he orders, still softly but with no room for negotiation. Darcy squirms a bit, trying to slide off her stool to obey him, but has no luck. The Soldier pulls her up against the pole and kicks the stool out from beneath her. Despite her fear, watching the muscles ripple as he checks that Darcy is standing and steady does something to her train of thought. What can she say? The man rocks shirtlessness. And her mind is willing to cling onto anything distracting her from the statistical likelihood that he will kill her. Soon. Darcy has to quell her bubbling panic, as the thought of ‘hysterical blindness’ translating into ‘hysterical nymphomania’ for her little basket of crazy might well give her a case of the ‘church-giggles’, followed closely by a case of the ‘being murdered’.

 

He turns on his heel and walks to a table set up at the closest wall of the small room. Bucky/James/ The Winter Soldier is sorting through bottles, keeping his work space organized even as he searches shelves and drawers for whatever eludes him. Darcy watches him, unable to focus clearly enough to figure out what he could be setting up, but a small part of her brain is relieved to see no obvious torture tools laid out. Just… little bottles, for I.V. medications and stuff. The Winter Soldier sets 4 bottles in front of himself, and starts to draw different amounts from each vial into a single syringe.

 

Darcy may not be a doctor, but she did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night, so she knows A) The Winter Soldier is too high functioning to be a junkie, which means B) she’s getting drugged.

 

He holds the loaded syringe up to the light and asks, “Are you over or under 150 lbs.?”

 

“Under! Very under!” she retorts, wondering how indoctrinated by popular media and marketing she has to be that THIS question is what causes her voice to raise.

 

“Do you tell the truth as you know it much of the time?” he asks, taking a step towards her.

 

“God! Okay! Not ‘very under’, just normal ‘under’. Tony insists on bringing donuts to the lab. Jesus.”

 

A look flits across his face akin to ‘you are not fucking serious right now’ before his cool detachment reappears. He walks behind her before saying next to her ear, “Don’t. Move.” She feels cold, metal fingers palpating her inner arm and she readies herself for the needle. All in all, he’s surprisingly skilled and smooth with the injection. As she considers telling The Winter Soldier that hospital phlebotomists earn a good living AND aren’t hunted by multiple government hit squads, she begins to feel flush. Her skin rapidly warms, the lights seem to suddenly be wayyy too bright, and the points on her body where fabric fit snugly became uncomfortable, almost unbearable. Darcy shifts restlessly against her restraints while the Soldier watches her.

 

“Did you poison me?? What was that?” she asks, her voice pitching up nervously.

 

“I would not bother to immobilize you, transport you then interact with you simply to achieve what could have been done in 4 seconds with a bullet.”

 

“’No’ would have sufficed,” she mumbles resentfully. Darcy sways a bit, beginning to feel tipsy, almost drunk. “Okay, then… then what did you give me?”

 

“It won’t hurt you,” he replies, pulling a chair over to where Darcy wobbles unsteadily. He unbinds her wrists, and guides her unbalanced frame into the waiting chair. She immediately leans forward and struggles to pull her sweater off of her very uncooperative arms.

 

“That,” she states petulantly, still wrestling with her top, “is NOT an answer. Ugh! s’ hot…” and Darcy manages to free herself from her devious autumn fashion as James takes the seat facing her.

 

_“You keep sayin’ you’re so good with ya mitts, why don’t you help a gal out, here, Romeo?”_

 

_Maggie looks back over her shoulder at Bucky from where she’s kneeling on the bed. Her cream silk slip is tight on her generous curves, and she lifts her loose golden brown hair away from her neck and waits. He walks over to her, leans one knee on the bed and unclips the fine gold chain that suspends a sapphire jewel just below her collarbone._

 

The Soldier stares at her for a long moment again, blinking rapidly before telling her scornfully, “Behave, little girl. You are a prisoner, not a guest.”

 

_“But Mr. Barnes!” Maggie cries out in practiced alarm, feebly placing her hand on his wrist to stop him, “My Reverend says-“_

 

_“Don’t worry, little girl,” he breathes into her ear as his hand slides slowly up her inner thigh, thumb circling, moving further under her dress, remaining in character while seducing the ‘wide eyed Sunday school girl’ Maggie played. “I can take you to church.”_

 

…but Darcy sees it.

 

Every time he looks her over, just before The Soldier snaps the reins, Darcy sees a look she knows well. It's the look she got from the Marines in Afghanistan when Tony insisted she take a “field trip” with him to demonstrate and gift new tech to vulnerable outposts. It's the look she had gotten from several cowboys on a rural Texas cattle ranch when she stopped by on a spontaneous road trip to visit an older cousin.

 

Like a cat, all by itself, in an elevator that just opened to the penthouse. Not  _impossible_ , per say, but something that momentarily stops all other thoughts with a single, pressing question.

 

'...wait...what?'

 

Yeah. Darcy can work with THAT look.

 

“Hail HYDRA,” he says to her, monotone.

 

“Fuuuuuck HYDRA,” is Darcy’s answer. He raises a brow at that, but says no more on it.

 

“Tony Stark, you work for him?”

 

“Pffffft, he WISHES. I only answer to Princess Pepper. I *intervene* with Tony Stark,” Darcy says with a smirk as her head lists to the side.

 

“Are you allowed to observe his experiments on Captain Steve Rogers?” the Soldier asks, eyes trained on her face for information.

 

“What the WHAT?? What the fuck do you mean, ‘experiments’? Nobody, but nooooooobody ‘experiments’ on Steve or anybody there. Well, technically Stark experiments on *himself* but I don’t thi-“

 

“DO. NOT. Lie to me. Whatever they have offered you, I can take away more.”

 

Darcy’s eyes are shut and her brow furrows as the Soldier cuts her off. She squints her eyes open at him, unsure where to go with that. Then her words begin to flow from her lips even less restrained than usual, which was sayin’ something.

 

“Dude, you have the WRONG frickin’ building if you’re looking for human experiments done with quasi-Nazis or whatever the fuck those pricks call themselves right now. Even the ROBOTS have a union and a company Christmas party, so I’ll put Stark Co. in the staunchly “sentient beings”-positive camp, and YES, I *am* willing to ‘wager my life on this answer,’ JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES!” Darcy finishes, shouting the name at him and inexplicably steamrolling over any plan for survival she had considered.

 

_“Again!” he demands as he bites the back of her neck, continuing to roughly thrust into her while using her hair, wrapped in his fist, to pull her taut body back to meet his hips._

 

_“James! Fuck! ..mmm… James Barnes! Ah- yes!” she shouts as he pounds her from behind, his speed and force now brutal and perfect. He pulls her hair harder, arching her back and pushing her over the edge. Maggie’s pussy tightens around his length while she cums with a choked, strangled noise. James can’t stop himself from giving in to his own orgasm, deep inside-_

 

The Winter Soldier inhales sharply as he blinks several times, looking around the room. Darcy is leaning her chin on her hand, elbow propped up on the bare-bones armrest of the utilitarian “guest chair”. Her eyebrows are raised but her eyes are closed as she faces her captor. James is glad for this small allowance and is satisfied she is unaware of his compromised state. The longer he remains out of cryo, the more “Bucky” memories surface. While it is mostly positive emotion linked to periodic revelations, it also tends to break his focus as well as (the most alarming part) leaving him briefly devoid of any drive, impulse, urge or compulsion to track and analyze the whereabouts of Captain Steve Rogers, his operational team or his handlers. The paranoia, the nauseating fear that gnaws constantly at his stomach, telling him They are watching, They will punish him for such severe deviation from the mission objective… for a short “Bucky” moment, the Soldier wants to scoff at the notion.

 

‘Let ‘em come!’ part of him pipes up. ‘Dunno whose left to send now, but I’ll take on the stragglers, too.’ In those instances, he feels echoes of indignation, rage and complete certainty that no one will ever control him again. He also feels this other self deem all the hiding and subterfuge ridiculously unnecessary.

 

‘Whatever you wanna know, HE’LL TELL YOU! Jesus wept, just ask!’

 

Usually, when James mentally reaches out for this persona, this other self that may or may not fit him now, that is when the spell breaks. That man fades like a ghost, but slower every time. Each time, he’s a little more resistant to oblivion.

 

James eyes the girl. Something about this pin-up pistol shakes memories loose in him. Her lips, her attitude, those curves for days…

 

He doesn’t know the last time he *wanted* or even had a notion that there is something *to want*, but watching Darcy Lewis work up a sweat while mindlessly shifting and squirming clicks something into place. That part that Darcy was shaking unwinds instead, like a neatly wrapped package, delivered to the right spot and easily accessed. The knowledge and thoughts aren’t a flood or tidal wave. It’s just this one section of his brain- how to seduce, what he likes, how it felt before, how to make her feel it, the good, deep, hot, unstoppable WANT- that comes into focus for him like it was never hidden.

 

And God knows, it's rolling through him now.


	2. Good Ideas Are So BORING

Darcy knows she’s been drugged. She can tell that much. The unfortunate thing is that she really just does not care. Like, at all. She’s feeling nice and relaxed, a little too warm, but overall, doing pretty good. Is she kind of a prisoner of the Winter Soldier? Well, sure, but if you’re not tied up and the guy keeps looking at you like he wants to EAT you (oh, yeah, in THAT way), then are you still reeeeeaaaally a prisoner? (‘Yup. Absolutely,’ the ever-shrinking Responsible Darcy supplies.)

When Darcy had opened her eyes, curious about the lengthy silence after shouting at her epically lethal kidnapper, James was staring at her. He didn’t look surprised or confused or even detached. He had a glint in his eye and his head cocked to the side, giving Darcy the ‘once over’ twice and putting off some serious sexy vibes.

Now James slowly paces, appearing to be rolling some ideas around in his head. He picks up her sweater from the floor, rubbing the material between his fingers before tossing it onto a side table.

“Feel better, doll?” he asks, slowly turning to her again. She licks her lips, suddenly *very* warm and 100% in the here and now. How was she feeling, anyways?

“Feeling pretty good, could be feeling much better,” she replies.

“Oh? That so?” Bucky has a small, knowing smile and raises his eyebrows questioningly. 

“It is,” she says, reaching under her thin tank top to unlatch her bra, pulling the straps down each shoulder and arm in turn, then pulling the whole thing off and down the front of her shirt, nonchalantly dropping it to the floor. Bucky watches this whole routine silently, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall, trying to suppress a grin.

“And now?” he asks innocently.

“Gettin’ there,” she says as she shimmies her jeans off without fully rising from her seat. Darcy’s boy-short panties are more than enough coverage, she decides, and the cool air on her heated skin brings a wave of relief.

Bucky’s eyebrows are damn near in his hairline as he watches this little vixen strip down.

“May I ask what you’re doing there, exactly?”

“It’s hot, man! My sweaty jeans sticking to my skin wasn’t helping, so I problem solved.” And with that, Darcy gathers her loose hair up off her neck and just holds it piled on top of her head, eyes closing as she enjoys the cool air again.

Bucky knows this is logical, especially given Darcy’s state of mind. Bucky *also* knows that watching her like this- barely covered, skin flushed and glowing from a thin sheen of sweat, color blazing high on her cheeks- will lead to nothing good.

Not that Bucky has a problem with that. On the contrary, he has a bad reputation to uphold.

Darcy cracks an eye open and watches Bucky watching her. “What are YOU doing?”

With that, he walks to her chair, swiftly man-handling her out of the seat and onto one of the heavy duty shop tables lining the wall. He has her legs spread open, sitting up on the edge of work space, with his own hips cradled by her thighs as he stands in front of her. Darcy squeaks a bit in surprise at the movement, but her somewhat glassy eyes also show her desire plainly, and the hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“Anything I want,” he says, moving one hand to the small of her back while the other wraps her hair in his fist.


	3. Action & Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's up for tempting fate??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but if I wait until the chapters are "just right," I end up NOT posting them. This motivates me to write faster.

Chapter 3

Bucky’s eyes stay on Darcy’s face as he pushes her body to the edge of the table using his hand curled over the base of her spine. Her pussy is so hot he can feel it through his jeans, where his own excitement is just as obvious, straining against the denim towards what he knows is blessed relief. He pulls her hair, forcing her head back and eyes on him. He leans down, his cheek against hers, and says low and soft in her ear,

“You’re overdressed.”

Bucky’s hot breath in Darcy’s ear and on her neck pulls a short, choked moan from Darcy’s chest. In this surreal situation, Darcy has given up on the idea that any of this makes sense or is advisable at all. She is on board with giving in to her base impulses and is determined to dish out as well as she takes.

Hence, her response with chin raised and head tilted:

“And what are you gonna do about it, mister?”

Darcy barely processes his huffed laugh and wicked grin before his hand is out of her hair, off of her back and on her sternum, pushing her body down onto the table while her legs still dangle off the side. Bucky’s on his knees the next instant, pulling one leg over his shoulder to open her up and keeping it firmly in place with his bionic grip. He slowly noses at the damp cotton over her clit once... twice… a third time before Darcy starts to squirm and her thigh tense up. Bucky’s mouth is almost…. alllllllll…most… pressed against the apex of Darcy’s inner thigh. If he would just… fucking… do it alrea-

“I’m gonna make you beg me to rip them off, girlie. That’s what.”

“Of course you are,” Darcy says to herself, propping up on her elbows to get a good view at the man who apparently is skilled in MANY forms of torture. He looks wicked and delicious and unmistakably like a new life-long standard that no one will ever be damaged enough to meet.

“What if I just took things into my own hands, respectively?” Darcy smirks as Bucky’s eyes narrow at her. She moves a hand from the table beside her and moves a finger up and down the side of her panties.

“Then I would say you like being tied up,” he responds. Darcy freezes. She still smiles, but as they continue to stare at one another, both assessing and challenging, her eyes narrow as well. Bucky had seen her breathing hitch at his statement, and if he was a betting man, he’d say she’ll be testing his word in 4…  
3…  
2…  
-and her thumb hooks into her panties, pulling them askew with a single yank before Bucky smiles broadly at her and stands to full height.

“Yeah, I kinda thought as much,” he says, reaching over for the rope on the next table.


	4. Like Riding A Bike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's do this.

Chapter 4

“Now, I know I said you’d beg,” he explains, with a final pull to tighten the soft rope around Darcy’s wrists, “but we need to keeps things as ‘function over form’ when working within limitations on our resources.” 

He motion around the utilitarian room they’re in, then stands straight up with both hands on his hips, admiring his knot-work. 

“And also,” he continues as he leans down and pulls Darcy’s panties off her hips and down the length of her legs before balling them up in his hand, “I think it looks fuckin’ hot as hell.” With this, he brings the wadded up material to Darcy’s mouth. 

Darcy’s eyes are dark and challenging as she glares at him. ‘Okay,’ Inner Darcy says, ‘let’s play’.

She licks her lips with a generous amount of tongue and says innocently, “But I thought you said I'd plead for you to fuck me?”

Barnes pauses to smirk at her. “Let’s just consider that a foregone conclusion, hm?” then places the makeshift gag in Darcy’s accepting mouth. 

Her eyes flash with heat as she makes an experimental whimper, finding it properly muffled. Her wrists are bound together and secured above her head to an exposed ceiling beam. Barnes had placed a duffel bag behind Darcy to pillow her naked back from the cinder block wall, keeping her sitting upright and not pulling against the unyielding rope. Her legs again dangle off the edge of the table while her ass barely has room to sit, effectively placing her now naked body on display.

An errant thought stuck on what The Winter Soldier might have in the surprisingly comfy duffel/pillow (Parachute? Gym clothes? Extensive feather boa collection?) before a wave of sheer, primal, scorching lust flows over her when she focuses on the man before her. James is admiring the view he has, his eyes slowly taking her in, head to toe to head. He’s still in his low slung jeans, lean and cut torso flexing as he crosses his arms over his chest, meeting her eyes with a small, satisfied smile. 

Darcy wonders if she could actually be driven crazy by desire and teeters perilously close to having a for reals, legit, tantrumy freak out. She knows her window to make demands is long gone, but *something* needs to force this edge, this hyper-awareness, this maddening feeling of ‘….al…most…there…’ OUT of her. She can barely squirm, lest she scoot herself fully off the table and possibly dislocate both shoulders, but she feels like she has sand beneath her skin, grating and cloying and WRONG. Darcy’s frustration is mounting, nearing the point of angry tears. She wants to scream, ‘You have to fuck me boneless RIGHT MOTHERFUCKING NOW!’ She *would* scream that if she could. Darcy squeezes her eyes shut, drops her head backwards and lets out a muffled but rage-filled shriek.

“Now, now, Princess,” James says lowly as he eases closer to her, “let’s see if we can’t pick up where we left off, huh?”

From there, the legendary assassin takes pity on his hostage, dropping to his knees and placing her legs over his shoulder. His hot breath on Darcy’s aching pussy gives her hope for sweet relief.

The next second, all higher functioning ceases for Darcy Lewis.

His mouth closes over her pussy, tongue flat and soft as it wriggles atop her clit. As hyper-sensitive as Darcy is, the unfocused contact is perfect: feeling the hot, wet, sloppy stimulation all over her cunt does something wicked to Darcy. This alone won’t make her cum, but she can’t get enough. James moans and groans against her slick skin, and the vibrations make Darcy’s back arch as she cries out pointlessly. He carries on for a few minutes before leaning his head against her thigh.

“Fuckin’ heaven,” he says, close enough that she feels his lips form the words over her wet flesh. James rises, undoing his jeans as he steps between her thighs. Darcy watches him through a haze of single minded intent, moaning through the cotton panties as his cock inadvertently slaps her pussy when his jeans drop. His rigid length is hot and heavy against her slit as his hands slide from her hips to her ass, getting a solid hold. James hoists Darcy up, resting the weight he doesn’t hold on her upper back, against the makeshift pillow. This position isn’t maintained for more than the time it takes Barnes to give Darcy a filthy smile and say,

“You could still beg. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

With that smart ass comment, he jerks Darcy up a bit more before relaxing his hold, letting her pussy impale itself on his cock. Darcy feels so full and can’t stop the choked cry she makes against the cotton gag when *more* of Barnes’ dick pushes into her. When he’s balls deep inside of Darcy, she doesn’t know how to classify what she’s feeling. All she can focus on is the pleasure and the drive for release, the need that has replaced ‘want’. James lifts her body again, pulling his dick almost completely out of her before letting her sink onto him again.

“Holy shit, girl,” he pants as he stills for a moment. Control restored, he starts fucking Darcy with total focus, jaw clenching as he pounds a steady rhythm between their bodies. Darcy’s breasts bounce in time with James’ thrusts, hypnotizing him and fueling his compulsion to watch her come apart. Darcy has grabbed the rope she is bound with to stop the push/pull on her wrists, clinging on for dear life as she feels her orgasm roiling to the surface. Her staccato groans become higher in pitch until they border on a whine. Before Darcy even sees him move, Barnes has the panties out of her mouth with one simple order:

“Now, beg.”

She couldn’t stop herself if she tried.

“Fuck, please, Bucky! Oh god, please, I need it, I need this so bad. Oh, fu- mmm, fuck me. Ah, please! Please!”

Darcy shouts the last word as her pussy clenches onto James’ shaft, shattering the tenuous grasp he had on his own restraint as well as his silence. A loud, deep growl emanates from his chest, punctuated by his final, brutal thrusts into Darcy. She feels his hot cum spurt up inside her as his shaft stiffens and pulses. Darcy’s own orgasm has her body tensed and back bowed, mouth open but soundless as the heat she was chasing floods over her. 

When her hearing includes her surroundings instead of the just blood rushing through her body, she listens to Bucky panting. Darcy feels his heart pounding through his chest to hers, out of sync but still oddly complimentary the longer she feels the beat. He huffs a few breaths into her hair before placing a kiss against her sweaty brow.

“I hate to say I told you so, buuuuuut…” is the last thing Darcy remembers hearing.

\--------------------------------

Darcy wakes up in her Stark Tower apartment, head pounding and thighs aching. On her nightstand is a large pitcher of water, a half filled glass, a large bottle of Aleve and a note.

‘Thanks for the insight. –JB’

Darcy blinks at the tight, exact letters printed on the small, otherwise blank card.

Darcy can now attest to what she’d learned through American history classes and, later, stories from Steve Rogers: 

James Barnes is one seriously smooth motherfucker.


End file.
